Progenies Of Our Creative Efforts...Or How To Control Vermin Poem by Ted Sheridan

Being just three years of age, the greasy fingered
little vermin are anything but cooperative; being three
is the brain’s equivalent to the Alzheimer’s that plagues
my mother and her senior friends. While people like me
on the other hand, at the sprite but not so uptight age of sixty;
must only contend with the occasional if convenient loss of memory.
What woman, no one called, no I don’t remember if I did or not;
sort of a Ricky Ricardo and Lucy type of “You got some explaining to do…
But how nice it must be to view the world at the spry young age of three,
with pureed and strained apricots and carrots spread across your face
and under your short cut fingernails; come to think of it
that too is a lot like getting old, what with the need for diapers and all…
Ahhh…little children and old people…can't live with’em and we can’t live
without becoming one__

2008 © T Sheridan